


Paradise of Rubble

by krystian



Series: Unfamiliar Cadence [1]
Category: Code Vein (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Gender-Neutral Protagonist (Code Vein), Good Dad Jack, Implied/Referenced Character Death, POV Second Person, Post Crown of Sand, Spoilers, Team as Family, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krystian/pseuds/krystian
Summary: You don't really like keeping night watch - not because you easily get tired, but because you just don't know what to do with all the free time, can't even remember what you liked to do before.Maybe you will find out, sooner or later.
Relationships: Protagonist & Jack Rutherford
Series: Unfamiliar Cadence [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668760
Kudos: 51





	Paradise of Rubble

**Author's Note:**

> havent even finished the game rip.  
> but to be fair, my character is very cute i would marry her any second. i could just stare at her for hours
> 
> title is taken from the ending song [Amber Journey](https://youtu.be/vNiCzBh69CI):  
>  _Spreading out before me  
>  A paradise of rubble  
> Crumbling, struggling, longs to be reborn  
> _  
> i really like most of the ost, its pretty good, and the story is kinda sad. the game is really fanservice-y, but the characters are likeable and im into anime, so i can ignore that for now  
> 

Everyone seemed to have a thing they liked doing – for Louis, it was mostly reading books, while Yakumo seemed to relish booze the same way Murasame enjoyed a good video game and Coco at least kind of got excited when spices and other strong flavours came into play.

Thing was, you didn’t really know what you liked. Maybe because you couldn’t even remember what you had done before you’d turned into a revenant.

You tried helping Davis with upgrading the motorcycle he was always around, but the way you fumbled with wires and gears told you that you hadn’t worked with machines before your rebirth.

The next project you had tackled had been cooking with Yakumo, and even if you weren’t really a bad cook per se, it didn’t seem to bring joy to you the same way it did to him. It was fun, mostly because of Yakumo, but something was lacking.

Reading with Louis _(you accidentally fell asleep, apologizing profusely afterwards; Louis had chuckled, saying he didn’t mind),_ studying the etiquette of tea with Mia _(you had poured the hot water over your hand, and while it’d healed pretty fast, the shame of not even being able to prepare tea burnt bright inside of you),_ forging weapons with Murasame _(first you had played video games, but you had been bad at those, and when she proposed forging weapons together you had broken your other hand by smashing down too hard the first time, and that was it)_ and throwing shade at people with Coco _(you just didn’t have a lot to say)_ proved to be infertile as well.

You didn’t even bother shadowing Io because she seemed just as lost as you were, maybe even a little more.

And so it’s your turn to keep night watch once again; that’s also why you’re sitting here now, on a velvety stool in front of the organ inside the chapel, hands on the keys but only hesitantly.

The night is deep and solemn around you, no light except that of the moon’s shining through stained glass windows. Most of your friends are asleep at this point, or at least relaxing in the hot spring, which is probably better than sitting here and doing nothing. Only Louis is keeping you company, but even he is engrossed in one of his books _(it makes you smile when you notice that it’s actually one you gave to him)_ and paying no attention to you.

You feel kind of exposed without your weapon equipped or your blood veil on, but both items are resting right beside you, ready to be grabbed at any given moment should an enemy choose to invade the chapel.

You exhale deeply, hands still on the keys. The organ is still dirty, even though you removed the thick coating of dust earlier that day. You hope the walls are soundproof here, but you have the feeling they might not be.

There are pedals on the organ as well, but they kind of intimidate you so you don’t even attempt to put your feet on them and press down.

Steeling yourself _(because you just feel like it has to be done at some point),_ the tips of your fingers gently press down onto the slightly dirty, off-white keys, your breath hitching in your throat at the croaky sound the instrument emits from its rusty pipes. You freeze, shooting a look at the only other person in the room, but Louis only shortly raises his head at the noise, nodding at you before burying his nose in the book again.

Taking that as a cue to go further, you press down harder, feeling the pressure of the keys against your fingers as more sounds are created, and subconsciously, you crack a smile. It doesn’t sound too bad, if you may say so yourself.

Your fingers move across the keys without you having to think too much about it, feeling them and pressing down where you think it’s necessary. Sometimes a few, weird sounds emerge, but you power through them, quickly moving away from those keys and experimentally pressing other ones, finding your own rhythm and melody.

And it’s fun – the way the vibrations flow through your body and the music echoes through your blood, the way the sound reverberates in the old church-like building and how Louis even sometimes smiles where he’s sitting, eyes still on the book. 

You allow yourself another small smile, grinning dumbly at the instrument in front of you.

You may not be able to remember if you had played – or had even heard – a pipe organ before, but it doesn’t mean you can’t savour this moment of inexperience where failing doesn’t mean your imminent death or the loss of a loved one.

Suddenly, a hand is placed on your shoulder, and you immediately let go of the organ, reflexes and instinct yelling at you to whirl around and throw off whatever’s gotten to you. It’s only due to the knowledge of being in relative safety that you don’t act out on your instincts; instead, you fold your hands in your lap so their subtle twitching isn’t as noticeable and slowly turn around to face whoever’s approached you.

You half expect to see Louis, annoyed with you for disturbing him while reading, but then again, he’d just have teleported himself right next to you and probably caused another heart attack. Louis doesn’t sneak up on people like that.

No, it’s someone else standing there, looking at you with something in his eyes that you can’t name, no matter how hard you try.

It’s Jack; his white hair is slightly tousled _(looks like he’d been resting as well; you sure hope you didn’t wake him)_ and there’s no mask hiding his face, making the slight frown all the more visible.

He clears his throat, taking his hand off your shoulder. “What are you doing here, in the middle of the night?” It doesn’t sound accusing, rather a little put off by your antics.

You bow your head a little. “Excuse me, sir,” you reply earnestly, “I didn’t intend to wake you.”

Jack rubs his temple, his expression blank, and squints at you. “It’s fine,” he finally retorts, shaking his head. “Just… maybe don’t play during the night anymore. I’m sure Eva would appreciate it more if you played during the day as well.” For a second his eyes wander over to where the sleeping quarters are located, and you follow his gaze. No one is there.

Looking at the place where Louis had just been, it proves to be empty as well, no trace of him left besides the small, dog-eared book on the table.

You train your gaze back on Jack, who’s still standing there, looking down at you. It’s uncomfortable to crane your head up like that, so you motion for him to sit down on one of the sitting accommodations.

Surprisingly enough, he complies without saying anything; he doesn’t sink back into the soft material but instead opts to sit upright, ready to get back up at any given moment.

Heaving a sigh, he redirects his attention back to you. “So why do you play at night?” He asks after what feels like an eternity, the silence weighing heavily on you.

You just shrug. “I don’t know, I’ve never played before. I thought trying wouldn’t hurt, but I didn’t want to disturb anyone during the day.”

Jack nods in understanding, his visible eye flashing with something, but it’s gone in an instant. “This is your first time playing the organ?”

He’s exceptionally chatty today – but maybe that’s just because no one is around at the moment and he has no real image to uphold in front of you. Not after what you’ve seen. Does he know that you know?

You cock your head to the side, staring at something in the distance. “I suppose it is. I don’t remember much from before,” you admit. The slight glow emitted by the purified mistle attracts your gaze and you focus on that, just so you don’t have to look at Jack.

He huffs a little, and from the corners of your eyes you can see him crossing his arms in front of his chest. “A lot of revenants don’t,” he comments, and you almost want to ask him if he doesn’t remember either, but that seems a little blunt, even for you.

Instead, you shrug again, drawing your shoulders up defensively. “It is what it is. As long as I don’t lose any memories now.”

“That’s a pretty optimistic point of view,” he huffs out a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t seem amused, “is there anything you even remember?” The question is a bait; you know that.

Nevertheless, you ponder it for a moment, chin propped up on your palm. “I suppose I do,” you finally admit, and his gaze drops immediately. “Not much, but I remember little things, like the end of Operation Queenslayer.”

His eye narrows a little more. “Then I guess you know, huh?” He doesn’t have to clarify.

It’s silent for a moment – just the howling of the wind outside, as lost as you are, and your even breathing. You can feel your heart _(is it even truly yours anymore?)_ beating in your chest. “I do,” you simply say, because there’s not much more to it than that.

Jack sighs, averting his eyes again. It’s like he doesn’t want to see you, as if just the sight of you causes him pain. “I don’t regret what I did,” he answers, “although I guess I kind of have to somewhat retract that statement, seeing as you are one of our strongest assets now.”

You mouth the word. _Asset._ Is that really what you are, after all?

“Neither do I regret it,” you retort, and really, you don’t. Well, most of the time. “I don’t hold it against you, either. You did what had to be done, what was asked of you. One single life is a small price to pay for the greater good.” You don’t mention the fact that you aren’t even dead – that should be pretty obvious.

He sighs again, deeper this time, and you see his ribcage expand as he sucks the air into his lungs. “I guess we are all expendable in this operation.” It doesn’t sound angry – just resigned, as if he’s already given up.

You nod again, just as another thought crosses your mind. “Actually… I was wondering,” you start, unsure how you should continue. You gnaw on your lower lip; Jack doesn’t say anything to either en- or discourage you. “The vestige we found – _my_ vestige, it didn’t contain a lot of memories. Do you perhaps know… I don’t know, a little more about me? What I was like before? Maybe even what I liked to do?”

Jack grumbles quietly, deep in thought. “I think I’ll have to disappoint on that, kid,” he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his eyes piercing. “I only knew you for- quite a short time. Barely got to know you at all.”

Dropping your head, your eyes roam the floor. Dust starts accumulating in the cracks on the ground, and there are faded footprints everywhere. “Thanks anyway,” you mumble, trying to sound grateful. It’s not his fault.

He hums; just a deep rumbling in the back of his throat. “If you can’t remember much from before… then why don’t you just start making new memories?”

You groan a little, hiding your face in your hands. “No offense, sir, but that was a very- hm, how do I put it lightly?” You raise your hand to your chin in mock-puzzlement, assuming the typical thinker’s pose. “While that certainly is a valid answer, and a good one at that, it is also very… well…”

“Just spit it out, stop beating around the bush,” he says, narrowing his eye further. It might seem menacing or even degrading to anyone else, but you see the light twinkling in his eye.

Fiddling with your hands in your lap, you can feel the smile spreading across your face. “A very grown-up answer. One might even say it has a lot of dad-energy to it.”

Now it’s his turn to bury his head in his hands; you almost feel sorry for him. Almost. “I don’t think I need to hear this from my subordinates,” he mumbles.

“I’m not your subordinate anymore, though,” you retort, and he looks up at you again, his face strangely contorted.

He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, and leans back a little, the couch creaking under his weight in protest. “I suppose you aren’t,” he says. “You’ve really grown since back then. Although you could tone down the insolence a little, might I add, or else I'll really need to keep an eye on you."

Was that supposed to be a joke? Leaning back without falling off, you grin at him, your eyes crinkling around the edges. “I appreciate your suggestion, sir,” you say and he mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like _‘Yeah, I’m sure you do’_ , but you decide to ignore it. “Although I do believe you should head back into your quarters to rest some more.”

Jack rests one of his hands in the nape of his neck, rubbing at the skin there. “And you will stay here?” You know what he’s implying.

You shrug. “I don’t mind being alone for a while. Gives me time to properly process things, think about stuff.” You like being with them, with your friends, but some quiet now and then is nice as well.

Rubbing his hand across his face, he gets up, stretching his legs a little. You can faintly hear his joints pop. “Then I won’t bother you anymore. Keep in mind what I said, though.”

Cocking your head to the side, you regard him with a curious look. “What, that I shouldn’t play at night anymore?”

“I guess that too,” he replies easily, slowly but surely adapting to your personality once again. Although you doubt you had been like that when he’d been your supervisor. “No, the part about Eva. I’m sure she’d like to have someone with some musical talent as well.”

Oh. “I’m an amateur at best, sir,” you reply bashfully, hiding your face a little. You’re sure it turns red either way.

“Then it might not be helped that you practice during the night, I suppose,” he responds, the corners of his mouth twitching a little before he turns around and strides back into the quarters.

You can only watch him leave with a slack jaw, your eyes almost bulging out of your head.

From somewhere else, you can hear Louis _(at least you assume it’s Louis)_ chuckle quietly, the sound muffled. In an outburst of emotion, you slam down onto the keys, creating a crescendo of screeching sounds.

If you have to suffer, then so does everyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> ive said it before, i'll say it again  
> give me dad jack or give me death
> 
> also, please ignore that there isnt even an organ in the chapel which is quite disappointing 
> 
> Thanks to the stranger who helped me beat one of the successors by doing all of the heavy hitting, i appreciate your sword, buddy, and good luck to the guy who let jack n me do all of the work when fighting the queens knight while he kept dying repeatedly. I believe in you, stranger


End file.
